


House Of The Rising Sun

by girlgoneblack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, And it slips out of control, Basically Sam is playing with Dean's mind, Basically the vampire cure works even if someone drank vampire blood, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sam Winchester, But somewhat AU, Canon Compliant, Dark Dean, Dark Sam, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Guilty Dean, M/M, Mild BDSM, Mind Games, One Shot, Or maybe just a little bit of plot, PWP, Pining Dean Winchester, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sam has no feelings, Season 6 Episdoe 5, Soulless Sam Winchester, Top Dean Winchester, Vampire Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 09:44:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14931882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlgoneblack/pseuds/girlgoneblack
Summary: When Dean is turned into a vampire, he can’t resist the smell of Sam’s blood.





	House Of The Rising Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I always thought it would be hot if Dean thirsted for Sam's blood in that episode when he was turned into a vampire (Season 6 Episode 5, _Live Free Or Twihard_ ), and Sam was soulless at the time, so his moral compass would be all scrambled, and...
> 
> Anyway, here is the result - just a one-shot fic, pure PWP. It's pretty dark, involves blood drinking and some mild psychological manipulation, as well as explicit sex, obviously. Also, in this fic, the Campbell's vampire cure works even if someone drank blood previously (had to change _that_ or it wouldn't be fun).
> 
> Sorry for all the potential mistakes - English is not my first language, and this work is not beta-ed (I didn't even re-read it if I must be honest).
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Cheers!

> Oh mother tell your children  
>  Not to do what I have done  
>  Spend your life in sin and misery  
>  In the house of the rising sun
> 
> _House of the Rising Sun_ (The Animals)

 

This is one of those rare moments in his life when Dean can actually say that he is freaking out. 

He does not consider himself to be a man who easily panics or loses his calm over small and petty matters – there are only a few things that can actually make him lose his shit. Sam, obviously, is one of those things. He’s at the very top of the list, followed by Bobby, the Impala, and maybe a couple more that he would have to think of before naming them. So, no, Dean Winchester definitely isn’t someone who panics easily.

But right now, at this very instant, he is freaking out, and by freaking out, he means _freaking_ the fuck _out_. 

Because he’s a vampire. 

He grunts when the sound of curtains being abruptly closed hits his ears. He squints and turns to Sam, who is standing by the window, frowning at him. 

His senses are overwhelmed. He feels _everything_. He hears the cars on the street, the screech of ambulance sirens a few blocks away, the chatter of people in the bar just at the corner; he sees the cracks on their crappy motel walls, the tiniest ruffles on the bedsheets, the dust on the floor, the light, _God_ , the light oozing from the tiny lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. 

And then there is Sam. 

Dean can make out every strand of his smooth, silky hair, every last one of all the little moles spattered across his face and neck, every color of his ever-changing eyes. He can hear his breaths as if they were sputtered directly into his ears, his heartbeat as if his heart was beating, ripped out from Sam’s chest, in Dean’s own hands. He can smell him, his clean, sweet scent so thick it makes the air barely breathable. He can feel his warmth… Dean pauses for a beat at that, frowning slightly. No… Not his warmth. Sam feels _cold_. Almost unnaturally so. But he forgets about it quickly, because, _God_ …

The worst thing is the _blood_. 

Dean can almost see it tainting his lips red. He can almost taste its sweetness on his tongue. He can almost feel its warmth as it flows in his throat. 

He is _starving_ for it.

Sam stares at him from across the room with an unreadable expression. Dean meets his gaze and feels a pang in his chest. Sam had always been the most expressive one out of the two of them, always more opened about his feelings. But it seemed to have changed since they reunited a couple months ago – or maybe it had changed before? During that whole year they were apart?

No matter how hard he tried, Dean still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Sam didn’t even give him a _sign_ that he was alive. Dean would have thrown everything away for him in an instant. He was happy Sam was back, he genuinely was. And yet he had never felt more alone and confused regarding his brother. 

The lightbulb blinds him at the same time a particularly loud honk hits his sensitive ears and Dean is torn away from his train of thoughts. 

“Please, shut that off” he snaps, shielding his eyes from the light.

Sam sighs loudly and complies, plunging the room in a soothing darkness. The only source of light comes from the street.

“Dean, you should sit down” says Sam in a calm, detached voice. That seemed to be a thing since their reunion – that voice. Almost as if he didn’t care.

“You sit down” he bites back, feeling his patience slipping away.

Sam presses his lips together. Dean starts pacing, feeling that cold panic rising again.

“Samuel is gonna kill me when he gets here” he hears himself saying.

“No, Dean, he’s not” replies Sam, with the tone someone would use when addressing a particularly slow child.

“Yes he is” Dean retorts, “because I’m gonna ask him to because _you_ won’t do it.”

It comes out as an accusation. He didn’t mean it like that.

Or maybe he did. A bit.

“Okay, just hold on a second” starts Sam, but Dean cuts him mid-sentence:

“For what, huh? Look at me!” he shouts, downright hysterical.

“We can figure this out!”

“How!?” he barks.

Sam doesn’t reply. Dean takes his time to slow his breathing down, panting, watching Sam through his eyelashes. What calms him is his brother’s steady heartbeat.

That’s when it hits him.

“Why aren’t you freaked out?” he asks slowly, feeling cold and hot shivers running on his back.

Sam huffs out an offended chuckle.

“Of course I am.”

“Really” Dean seethes out. “Because I can hear your heartbeat and it’s pretty damn steady.”

“That’s because I’m _trying_ to remain calm” replies Sam without missing a beat.

_Lies, all lies._

“And you should try and do the same, until we figure something out” adds Sam, and then takes two long strides towards Dean.

The smell of his brother’s blood hits him again – it hits him _hard_. He feels like someone is scrambling his brain for fun. All his thoughts are incoherent.

“Yeah? And what ( _blood_ ) good do you think ( _Sammy’s blood_ ) it’ll do ( _Sammy’s sweet, sweet blood_ ) to remain calm ( _dripping from your chin_ ) since we don’t have ( _flowing down your throat_ ) any way out of this mess ( _him moaning your name_ ), not this time ( _just TAKE IT_ )!” he grunts out, breathing raggedly. 

“There is a way out, there always is” sighs Sam, approaching Dean even more.

He reaches his hand to touch him on the shoulder, surely to soothe his anxiety, but Dean swats his hand away, hard. It stings because of the slap, and it burns because of the contact with Sam’s skin. It burns a lot.

“Don’t come any closer” he whispers hoarsely.

Sam watches him, observing, his eyes glinting in the dark. He cocks his head to the side, exposing his neck, his brows furrowing in question.

“I can smell your blood” Dean says through gritted teeth. 

At that moment, something in Sam’s expression shifts. It becomes dark, darker than the room itself. If Dean wasn’t half mad at that moment, he could swear his brother’s lips stretched out in the tiniest of smiles.

“Of course you can” chuckles Sam, and instead of stepping back, he further invades Dean personal space.

“Sam, what are you…” Dean rasps out, but Sam shushes him.

“I bet you’re hungry. You are, aren’t you?” asks Sam, his expression just as neutral as before, and it sends chills running down Dean’s spine.

“Very” he hears himself say.

“You’re starving. You would love to have some blood right now, wouldn’t you?” Sam smiles, the smile as cold as him. “I wonder if mine would be sweet. What do you think, big brother?”

Heat pools in his groin, his skin prickling, his whole body shaking. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, he can slowly feel his sanity slipping away. All he can think about is _Sam_ – Sam, standing a foot away from him; Sam, his whole body oozing heat and yet so cold at the same time; Sam, his blood flowing through all those veins visible on his muscular arms and neck; Sam, his brother, whom he desired from the moment he knew what desire was, whom he lusted after his whole life, whom he wanted to take and never give to anyone, whom he loved more than life itself.

“Yes, it would be.”

Sam stares at him in a sort of awe and moves forward, standing mere inches apart now.

“Then take it” he whispers, the cold smile never leaving his face.

It sobers Dean up a bit – at least enough to step back, shaking his head, his eyes widening in horror at the realization of what he was ready to do. His hard on makes his jeans uncomfortably tight, and he winces as it rubs a bit on the smooth material of his boxers.

“Stop it, Sam, just…” he stutters. “This isn’t funny anymore. It’s not a game.”

“Of course it’s not funny” says Sam, his gaze predatory now. “You’re weak and hungry, so let me feed you, big brother.”

And Dean almost does it. He almost drops to his knees to suck Sam off right here, right now, hoping it would be rough, hoping Sam would moan, hoping he would grab Dean’s hair, hoping his own fingers would leave bruises on Sam’s smooth, perfect hips, and after he’d be over with _that_ , Sam’s come dripping from his chin, he’d finally taste his sweet, _sweet_ blood right from that tanned neck. 

“Sam, _stop_ ” he wheezes. “Just, _stop_. I’m not gonna drink your blood, you’re my brother.”

Sam barks a laugh at that. A cold, cruel one.

“I may be a monster now, but I won’t stoop that low” Dean finishes.

Sam’s eyes bear a heavy undertone as he gazes at Dean, licking his lips with the tip of his tongue, and Dean tries – and fails – not to stare.

“Then tell me, Dean, how low _did you_ stoop when you imagined yourself fucking me during all those years?”

Dean feels like the air is being taken from his lungs. He tries clutching at it, gulping it, but he soon finds himself with nothing to breathe. 

“W-what?” he chokes.

Sam purses his lips.

“Oh, please” he says, “did you really think I didn’t notice?” He chuckles a bit at that, as if it were a stupid joke. “All those longing stares, the burning gazes, the lust in your eyes… The way they would grow dark when I wore shorts in the summer or when I took my t-shirt off. How you literally undressed me with your stare. How you would be jealous when I showed interest in some girl. How you would always linger with your touches, sit unnecessarily close when we watched television.” Sam pauses a bit, throwing a pitying look at Dean. “Did you really think I was that blind? That I’m this _stupid_?”

Dean chokes on air, the panic rising in his chest.

“No” he breathes out. “No, of course I don’t think you’re stupid, Sammy, of course not, I…”

He just feels pathetic at that point. 

“I… _Oh God_ … I’m sorry…” he rasps. “Sam, I swear… I swear to God I never touched you, I never acted on it… I… I never meant for it.”

He falls to his knees in front of Sam, who remains unmoving, a dark figure looming over him. He raises a trembling hand and clutches Sam’s pants, but then retreats it as if burnt. He’s not worthy of touching Sam.

“Please forgive me, just… _Please_ ” he begs in a trembling voice, feeling the tears prickling his eyes. “I don’t want to die knowing you hate or resent me. I know I don’t deserve this, but…”

Sam’s warm hand on his cheek stops his rambling.

“Shh” whispers Sam, guiding him back on his feet. “You’re not going to die. I won’t allow it. I’ll find a way.”

His stare is neutral, his words nor warm nor cold, very detached, and it makes Dean sob. 

How low he has stooped _now_ , shaking, crying, half hard and yearning for his brother’s blood.

“But for now” adds Sam in a steady voice, “just take what you want. Just drink. You’ll be needing the strength.”

Dean looks him into the eyes, and he sees nothing. No feelings – no anger, no disgust, no love. And it terrifies him. 

He’s about to say no, walk away, flee from this darkened room, but Sam’s hand clasps him behind the neck, he tilts his head backwards, exposing his long neck, and he guides Dean’s face to it. The scent hits Dean, _hard_ , flooding his senses and clouding the sane part of his mind. 

He presses himself flush against Sam, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He ignores Sam’s content sigh as he runs his nose along his brother’s neckline, just inhaling the sweetness.

Sam is like a drug, addicting and dangerous.

Dean is trembling a bit, overwhelmed by all the sensations, by Sam _finally_ this close to him, after a lifetime of yearning in secret. His brother’s hand is steady on the nape of his neck, keeping him in place, so Dean slowly forgets about all the _wrongs_ and his lust-hazed mind concentrates on all the _rights_ – his brother’s slowly rising chest pressed to his, his hips pliant under his bruising fingers, his silky hair tickling his face a bit.

Dean brushes his mouth on Sam’s neck, then licks tentatively with the tip of his tongue. He gulps greedily, the sweetness almost unbearable. He leaves a trail of kisses up to his brother’s jawline. He’s not even sure if he’s allowed to do that, after all, Sam told him to _feed_ , not to _fuck_ , but his whole sanity evaporated the moment he pressed himself against Sam; so, righteousness be damned – he’ll take as much as Sam allows tonight; he’ll take until Sam _explicitly_ tells him to stop. And even more. He doesn’t care anymore. He’s going to die.

Dean mouths at his brother’s pulse point, sucking hard, while unconsciously bucking his erection against Sam. His little brother lets out a small moan, and Dean stops himself from coming just by the sheer power of his will. Sam starts matching his thrusts, and Dean finally bites down. Hard.

He feels his fangs digging in the soft flesh of Sam’s neck, the fragile vein there breaking easily. Sam gasps, his hands frantic in his hair, and Dean can feel the hot blood flooding his mouth. He swallows greedily, and it’s better than anything he could ever imagine. It’s hot, yet refreshing, so, so sweet, so satisfying and addicting at the same time, and Dean just wants _more_ , and he knows nothing will ever be enough to satisfy his thirst, now.

He growls – a sound he doesn’t even recognize – low and guttural, and animalistic, and he pushes Sam backwards until his brother’s back hits the wall. His head bounces off of it with a dull crack, but Dean doesn’t even pay attention. He grabs Sam’s long hair and pulls, hard, until his head is tilted back to expose his neck. He drinks his brother’s blood, gulping it as it flows into his mouth, his hips moving of their own accord, one knee shoved between his brother’s legs, rutting his erection against Sam’s thigh. 

Dean’s own blood is pounding in his ears, the sound mixing with Sam’s startled cries and moans.

When he feels relatively full and satiated, he draws back to look at Sam, not letting go of his hair or hips. His brother is a mess – his faced is flushed, his pupils blown wide, and his neck ripped opened and still gushing small amounts of blood.

Dean smirks at that. He feels a surge of strength he never felt before as a human, and a wave of possessiveness so strong he thinks for a short beat he would gladly suck Sam dry of his blood right now and let him die if it means no one else will ever have him. The edges of his vision are clouded, red spots dancing in front of his eyes, and he feels like he’s losing his mind. 

Sam watches him through his eyelashes, his eyes hooded, and then he licks he lips, slowly. Dean follows the movement, patient, but the moment Sam’s finished he surges forward. He kisses his brother’s lips with a bruising force, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his lower lip, drawing blood, and gulping it. His ears are ringing from Sam’s moans, although he can’t really separate them from his own, right now. He then flicks his tongue over the plush lip, and Sam immediately complies, opening his mouth for him. His tongue is soft, so soft, and so warm, and Dean explores his little brother’s mouth with the same greediness he drank his blood before. 

Dean knows that Sam must be tasting his own blood right now, right off his big brother’s lips, and it nearly drives Dean out of his mind. 

He breaks the kiss to admire his work – Sam’s lips are smeared with blood, bruised and swollen, and Dean thinks about how good they would look around his cock.

“On your knees” he rasps without a second thought.

Sam’s gaze flickers between his lips and his eyes.

“W-what?” he stutters, barely catching his breath.

But Dean doesn’t listen to him. He tightens his hold on Sam’s hair, and in one, swift, practiced motion he swipes him off his feet, making his legs buckle under him. Sam’s knees fall with a loud thud on the wooden floor, but Dean doesn’t really care if it leaves bruises. He pulls Sam’s silky hair, tilting his hair, and looks him in the eyes.

“Suck me” he commands. 

He can see Sam’s eyes widening slightly, his ever neutral mask slipping away. He reads a hint of fear in his brother’s eyes, along with amazement and surprise. 

Dean loses his patience and unzips his jeans, tugging them slightly so they’d fall lower on his hips. He then takes himself out of his boxers. He’s painfully hard, the tip already leaking of pre-come. 

“I said – _suck it_!” he snarls, pulling Sam’s hair, and takes the time the watch pain and panic flicker on his face, and then pushes his cock into his plump mouth. 

Sam’s eyes widen, but Dean barely notices it, his whole body shaking from the sensations – his brother’s taste still in his mouth, his vision clouded, the warmth and moist of Sam’s mouth around him.

Dean doesn’t wait for Sam to start moving. He thrusts his hips, shoving his hard on further into his brother’s mouth, Sammy’s head hitting the wall. Dean keeps it there, his hold strong and unwavering, and it allows him to fuck his brother’s mouth as it pleases him. 

He won’t last for long, he knows it. He sputters a string of incoherent words, shouts and moans, that all say basically the same thing: “ _Sammy_ ”. He dips one of his fingers in the still fresh blood on his brother’s neck and brings it to his mouth, sucking it. At the same time, Sam’s tongue starts flickering up and down his length, still buried in his mouth, and then actually takes Dean aback by surging a bit forward. His cock hits the back of his brother’s throat and Dean feels his vision swimming.

“Oh fuck, Sammy, _God_!” he shouts, putting one hand on the wall to steady himself.

Sam repeats the motion once more and this time Dean can’t take it – he convulses, coming in his brother’s throat, the force of his orgasm rippling through him, the taste of his brother’s blood still on his lips.

He takes himself out of Sam’s mouth but otherwise doesn’t move. He stands, leaning against the wall, breathing heavily, still shaking and sweating. After a while, he glances down at Sam. His hair is ruffled, his eyes slightly watering, crimson blood smeared on his face and neck. 

Sam stares at him, the shock obvious in his eyes. He looks vulnerable, for the first time since coming back from the Cage. It stirs him on even more. He wants to entirely control this man, to make him completely his.

Dean smirks down at him and leans over his brother, crowding his space.

“Aren’t you a good little bitch, huh, Sammy?” he snickers darkly.

Sam looks at him with confusion for a few moments, but then his mask is suddenly there, again, his composure back, his face neutral.

“Well, Dean, you finally show your true colors” he says, the mockery dripping from his words. “Maybe it’s not the vampire that made you a monster after all – you were one all along.” 

Dean snarls and pulls Sam back on his feet, tugging painfully at his hair.

“So this was your plan all along, huh, Sammy?” he lets out a manic laugh. “To, what? To humiliate me? Huh?” He sees red, the anger coursing through his veins, but he continues and sneers at his brother: “You never meant to help me, did you? Did you, _boy_!?” he growls, slamming Sam’s head on the wall, hard.

Sam cackles, his eyes dark and somewhat unfocused, pupils blown wide. Dean snakes his hand around his throat and then squeezes, hard, abruptly, and Sam stops laughing and starts coughing.

“Oh, what are you gonna do now, _big brother_?” he wheezes out. “You’re gonna kill me? Choke me? Suck me dry of my blood? Huh, Dean!?” he finishes and tries to laugh but what comes out it a weak cough.

Dean chuckles darkly.

“Oh no, Sammy” he replies. “Now I’m gonna fuck you, Sammy, so hard you’ll be forgetting your own name.”

Sam’s eyes widen, frantic and panicked this time. Dean feels a dark satisfaction twisting at his gut.

“Your own brother, Dean?” Sam chokes out. 

Dean doesn’t reply but drags Sam to one of the beds in their room. He hears Sam stumble behind him, probably struggling in the dark, and it gives him a sense of power and control, knowing he’s the only one comfortable and not vulnerable in this environment, right now. 

He throws Sam on the ruffled sheets, hard, and his brother bounces slightly off the mattress. He then begins to scramble backwards, but Dean doesn’t care if Sam resists. He’s stronger right now, stronger than any human being, and he’ll have what he wishes for. He lowers his trousers and his boxers all the way down then kicks them aside, along with his boots. He takes off his t-shirt and throws it on the ground. He’s entirely naked, now and he intends for Sam to be the same, even if he were to rip his brother’s clothes off him, himself. 

Dean drops himself on the bed and stalks to his brother on all fours, a dark smirk plastered on his face. He reaches for Sam’s leg and pulls his brother under him. Sam lets out a yelp, but Dean just presses himself on top of him, not caring about his brother’s half-hearted struggles or his ragged breaths. 

Dean pins Sammy’s wrist on either side of his head, his finger’s grip bruising and iron, and buries his nose in Sam’s neck – the other side, the one he hasn’t ripped open yet. He licks it, shuddering, Sam’s pulse frantic under his tongue. He draws back with difficulty, staring down at his brother, huffing under him. 

Dean lets go of Sam’s hand and clutches his flannel shirt. He rips it opened with one, harsh move. He ignores Sam’s mocking laugh and sits, straddling his brother’s hips, and presses his hand on Sam’s exposed chest. It’s warm, rising rapidly under his palms, all hard muscles, and Dean feels a wave of affection crashing on him. Caressing his brother’s side, he lowers himself and leaves a trail of chaste kisses, starting at his brother’s collarbone and ending by a simple brush of lips over his nipple. It’s erect now, and Dean flicks his tongue over it. Sam draws a startled breath, his abdomen hollowing. Dean smiles fondly and straightens himself, looking down at Sam. 

“Take those off” he orders, tugging at his brother’s jeans.

For a moment, he thinks Sam is going to comply, that he’s going to listen to him and make everything easy, but then his face shifts into a defying expression and he just stares. 

Dean snarls angrily and unbuckles his brother’s belt, taking it out of the belt loops of his jeans. He doesn’t throw it aside but puts it next to Sam’s head, and then tugs down his jeans and boxers. Sam kicks them down his legs, almost impatiently, and then stills once more. 

Dean is hard again, and takes a moment to admire his brother, seeing everything so clearly in the surrounding dark. Sam is sprawled across the bet, his tanned chest heaving, his pink cock standing, fully erect, his lean tights, all muscles, put apart, legs slightly bent at the knees, as if already prepared for Dean to take him. Sam is staring at him too, the challenge and mockery clear in his eyes, waiting for his big brother to act. 

Dean kneels on the foot of the bed and then runs his hand, gently, along his brother’s calves. Sam shivers under his touch in anticipation, but, for once, Dean takes his time. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a little voice is reminding him that this’ll be the only – the last – time he can have his brother that way. So he takes it slowly, despite his burning desire, despite his raging thirst. 

He softly kisses his brother’s knotted knee, and then runs his mouth along his inner thigh, his lips a bare brush against the hot flesh. His brother’s skin is soft and silky, the hair fine. It’s everything he ever imagined, and more. 

“Sammy” he whispers, and he could swear he hears his brother whimper. “Sammy, you can’t even imagine how…”

His kisses become dirtier, his tongue darting here and there, his teeth occasionally nibbling at the flesh. 

“I’ve wanted this… _God_ …” he continues in a reverent hush.

Dean takes a moment to appreciate the sight of his brother’s erection, staring at it through his lashes, then gives it a tentative lick. Sam’s hips buckle under him, and Dean smirks, tasting the much saltier flavor of pre-come mixed with sweat. He kisses his brother’s stomach, sloppy and open-mouthed, and arrives to his brother’s nipple once more. Sam’s chest is heaving, tainted with a heavy flush, his breath coming out in ragged stutters.

Dean flicks his tongue over his brother’s erect nipple, and Sam lets out a low, startled moan. Dean grazes his teeth against it, his mind swimming with lust, fingers digging more and more painfully into his brother’s side. Sam’s hand finds its way to Dean’s hair, pulling at it, but Dean doesn’t back away and begins to suck his brother’s sweet, rosy nipple, eyes falling shut to relish in the sensations flooding his body. 

Sam is shaking under him, small sounds leaving his mouth, and Dean bites down, hard. His brother lets out a startled cry, but muffles it almost immediately.

Dean draws back, admiring the red, bruised flesh around Sam’s swollen nipple. He then flicks his gaze to his brother’s face. His cheeks are flushed, eyes glazed and feverish, and he’s biting on his hand to prevent any sounds from coming from his mouth. 

“Come on, Sammy” he rasps. “Come on, I wanna hear you, I…”

Sam shakes his head, frantic. But Dean doesn’t give up. He flicks his brother’s tender nipple with his thumb, buckles his hips slightly so that their erections rub together, and Sam’s eyes go wide, a muffled whimper making its way from the back of his throat. Dean snarls angrily and rips his brother’s hand from his mouth. He examines the flesh – it’s red, and there are small spots of blood where Sam’s canines broke the tender flesh. 

Dean brings it to his mouth, sucking the blood, his mind once again in a frenzy of lust and thirst, the sweet, crimson liquid coursing down his throat.

Sam tries to take his hand back, struggling against Dean’s iron grip, but he doesn’t stand a chance against Dean’s strength. 

“Nuh-uh, Sammy” he chuckles darkly. “Stop struggling. You know you’re powerless, now.”

Dean thrusts his hips once more, his vision swimming from pleasure, and Sam lets out a loud moan.

“That’s it” hushes Dean, his fingers still digging into Sam’s arm, his hips rutting against his brother’s frantically, “that’s it, baby brother.”

“ _Dean_!” Sammy cries out, matching his thrusts almost desperately now. 

Dean never leaves his eyes off his brother, his tongue sticking out a bit from the effort. His other hand, the one that isn’t holding Sam’s arm, finds its way near his brother’s head to support his weight. His fingers graze against the leather belt that he left there, and in the spur of the moment he snatches it and wraps it around Sam’s wrist.

His brother’s eyes go wide and he lets out a startled cry, his other hand trying to pry the belt from Dean’s grasp. But Dean catches it and buckles the belt tightly around both of Sam’s wrists. He then ties it firmly on one of the metal rods of the bed’s headboard. 

“Dean, what the hell!” shouts Sam, pulling against his restraints. 

Dean cradles his face and kisses him tenderly, but Sam turns his face, squirming to get away from his brother.

“ _Dean_ , untie me! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Shh, Sammy, it’s so you don’t hurt yourself” he whispers reassuringly. 

He knows it’s not true, that it’s a blatant lie, because the belt is digging sharply into Sam’s wrists and it’ll surely leave bruises. And they both know it. But Dean doesn’t care – the power and control coursing through his blood right now, Sam writhing under him, desperate to escape, though he stands no chance, entirely at Dean’s mercy – all of this clouds his senses and his mind, and the one thing he can do is savor the feeling. 

Dean reaches to the night table and opens the first drawer, fishing out the tiny bottle of lube all motels provide their guests. Sam watches him with wide eyes and starts downright panicking, tugging at the belt and squirming under Dean’s weight on his hips.

“Dean, no… _Dean_ ” he mutters, following his brother’s every movement with his feverish gaze.

Dean pays no attention to him and uncaps the bottle, squeezing a generous amount on his fingers.

“This is gonna hurt if you don’t relax” he says, reaching to Sam’s entrance, his fingers lingering there.

“As if you care” snarls Sam, and then his face twists in discomfort as Dean pushes his first finger between his brother’s tight ring of muscles.

He feels Sam’s warmth clench around his finger and his brother whimpers, a small, pitiful sound. Dean shushes him, one hand cradling his sweaty hair, the other working him open. He kisses every bit of flesh he can find, Sam’s neck, his cheeks, his collarbones, resisting the urge to bite down and drink more _blood_. He twists his finger to hit the right spot and Sam lets out a string of curses and moans, bucking into him. 

“ _Dean_ , fucking hell…”

Dean licks the sweat trickling down his brother’s neck and adds a second finger. Sam whimpers and sharply tugs at his restraints. He long muscles flex from the effort, his face flush, his eyes hooded and wet.

Dean starts sucking a spot just above Sam’s pulse point and inserts a third finger. He knows he should be taking this slow, but the wait is excruciating, and he feels his self-control slipping away. He’s painfully hard, his cock digging in the flesh of Sam’s hip, and if he doesn’t do _something_ about it, and soon, he’ll probably go mad.

Dean draws away to look at Sam, who watches him, the challenge clear in his eyes. 

“Come on” he spats out, his voice hoarse. “Come on, _do it_ , big brother.”

Dean licks his lips and reaches for the lube once more to spread it on his erection. He gives himself a few tugs, just to relieve the pressure so he doesn’t come as soon as he enters Sam. He then places himself at his brother’s entrance and thrusts into Sam.

He never meant to be gentle, but he didn’t want to hurt Sam, either. But as soon as he feels his brother’s tight muscles around him, the warmth and wetness, his sanity evaporates and all he can do is shove deeper into Sam, listening to his litany of moans and cries. His hand snakes to his little brother’s round, firm ass, and he squeezes it, digging the tips of his finger into the pliant flesh. His other hand grips his brother’s hair and he gives it a vicious yank. He presses himself flush to Sammy’s chest, his brother’s dick trapped between their bodies, and he mouths at the tender spot on his neck, on the side he hasn’t tasted yet. 

Dean bits down without warning, and Sam curses and cries out his name. 

Dean can see the red spots dancing in front of his eyes once again, the blood gushing into his mouth as he takes avid gulps. It sends his mind into a frenzy, and he knows he’s close, very close.

“Sam… Sam, Sam, _Sammy_ , come on, baby boy… Just come for me” he whimpers, the blood dripping down his chin onto the sheets as he speaks. 

He lets out of Sam’s ass and snakes his hand between their bodies. He curls his fingers around his brother’s length and gives it a few tugs, his own cock still hammering into Sam’s ass. 

“Be a good little bitch and just _come_ ” he snarls into his brother’s ear, darting out his tongue to lick it. 

Sam sobs and, as if on command, his whole body convulses and he orgasms, his cock in Dean’s hand pulsating. Dean can feel the warmth of his come on his fingers and on his abdomen. His muscles clench around Dean, who is still buried deep in his brother, and it sends Dean over the edge almost immediately after, the pleasure rippling through his body. They ride their orgasm together, and Dean can only watch Sam’s mouth fall open, his eyes rolling back, the cry stuck in his throat while his whole body is shaking. His brother is gorgeous like this, breathtaking, Dean knows it, is conscious of it, somewhere in the back of his scrambled brain. His ears are ringing, and all he can do is let out a string of moans that are a mixture of “ _fuck_ ”, “ _God_ ”, “ _baby_ ” and “ _Sammy_ ”.

Dean collapses on top of his brother, his chest heaving, his mind still trying to catch up on what just happened. He never felt like this before – the blood, the sweat, the _sex_ – and he knows he never will, even if he were to live longer than the few hours he’s got left.

Dean takes himself out of Sam, leaving a trail of come on the sheets. He unbuckles the belt imprisoning his brother’s wrists, and Sam’s arms fall on the bed, unmoving. Dean licks his brother’s wounds clean, sucking the dried blood, and once he’s finished he finally meets his brother’s stare. 

Sam’s eyes are still hazy after his orgasm and full of unshed tears, and Dean doesn’t know if it’s because of the pain, anger or pleasure.

“You satisfied?” he rasps, his mouth curling slightly upwards. 

Dean doesn’t reply, shame twisting his insides. It was always there, but now it’s hitting him full force, like a blow to the head. He gets off of Sam and lies down gingerly next to him, watching his profile in the dim light seeping through the windows. They stay in silence for a while, neither one of them daring to move, too tired and spent to do something.

Dean finally speaks, his voice a mere whisper in the dark.

“Why did you never tell me?” he asks.

Sam turns his head to him, his eyes shining dangerously.

“Tell you what?”

“That you knew” says Dean, as if it was obvious. “I mean, about me wanting you” he adds, feeling a flush rise on his face, and he thanks all the gods that Sam can’t see in the dark.

“Oh” he mutters. “I don’t really know” he answers, frowning, and looking up to the ceiling as if trying to remember something distant. “I suppose not to break your fragile, little heart. You would never have forgiven yourself.”

And Dean has to admit it’s true, but the way Sam says it, cold once again, without an ounce of feeling or regret, clenches his heart in a painful way.

“So why say it now?” he pushes. 

“Because I don’t…” He can see the struggle on Sam’s face, as if debating whether to say something or not. He eventually shrugs and spats: “Just because. No reason.”

Before Dean can ask further questions he gets up and turns his back to him, sitting at the edge of the bed.

“You should clean up. Samuel will be here any minute.”

It sobers Dean up a bit and when Sam disappears into the bathroom, he scrambles to his feet and snatches a fresh towel from the other bed to tidy the mess they made, at least a bit. He puts his dirty clothes on, his head pounding from all the blood he drank and from the dawn’s light filtering through the curtains. He doesn’t examine the dirty sheets; he just takes them off and throws them on the floor near the door. Samuel won’t ask any questions either way. And if he does, Dean won’t be there to answer them anymore.

He’ll be dead.

* * *

In the end, Dean doesn’t die. Turns out there’s a cure, involving the vampire that turned him and some other disgusting ingredients. So he becomes human once more. In the purely biological and anatomical sense. He doesn’t think he’s a human anymore after doing what he did to his own brother. 

Sam doesn’t mention it. Dean is pretty sure his brother doesn’t even care. No, he’s actually _certain_ of it. 

Just like Dean doesn’t mention the fact that he _knows_ Sam allowed him to be turned into a vampire. 

As they set out on the road once more, Dean can feel a cold dread in the pit of his stomach settling in – a feeling he was never accustomed to: _panic_. Just a tiny drop. But it’s there nonetheless, steadily thrumming in is gut.

And he knows it’ll be following him from now on, for a long time to come.

**Author's Note:**

> So, yay! It's finished! It's actually the longest bit of fan-fiction I've ever written. AND it's my first explicit sex scene too - so I hope I didn't mess that up. It was so difficult at times, and I really hope it's not ridiculous or anything and that it remains at least a bit realistic.
> 
> Anyway, lots of love!
> 
> Cheers!


End file.
